Mardi ; and, A Voyage Thither, by Herman Melville

Chapter 54

They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza

The throng that greeted us upon landing were exceedingly boisterous.

“Whence came ye?” they cried. “Whither bound? Saw ye ever such a land as this? Is it not a great and extensive
republic? Pray, observe how tall we are; just feel of our thighs; Are we not a glorious people? Here, feel of our
beards. Look round; look round; be not afraid; Behold those palms; swear now, that this land surpasses all others. Old
Bello’s mountains are mole-hills to ours; his rivers, rills; his empires, villages; his palm-trees, shrubs.”

“True,” said Babbalanja. “But great Oro must have had some hand in making your mountains and streams. — Would ye
have been as great in a desert?”

“Where is your king?” asked Media, drawing himself up in his robe, and cocking his crown.

“Ha, ha, my fine fellow! We are all kings here; royalty breathes in the common air. But come on, come on. Let us
show you our great Temple of Freedom.”

And so saying, irreverently grasping his sacred arm, they conducted us toward a lofty structure, planted upon a bold
hill, and supported by thirty pillars of palm; four quite green; as if recently added; and beyond these, an almost
interminable vacancy, as if all the palms in Mardi, were at some future time, to aid in upholding that fabric.

Upon the summit of the temple was a staff; and as we drew nigh, a man with a collar round his neck, and the red
marks of stripes upon his back, was just in the act of hoisting a tappa standard — correspondingly striped. Other
collared menials were going in and out of the temple.

Near the porch, stood an image like that on the top of the arch we had seen. Upon its pedestal, were pasted certain
hieroglyphical notices; according to Mohi, offering rewards for missing men, so many hands high.

Entering the temple, we beheld an amphitheatrical space, in the middle of which, a great fire was burning. Around
it, were many chiefs, robed in long togas, and presenting strange contrasts in their style of tattooing.

Some were sociably laughing, and chatting; others diligently making excavations between their teeth with slivers of
bamboo; or turning their heads into mills, were grinding up leaves and ejecting their juices. Some were busily
inserting the down of a thistle into their ears. Several stood erect, intent upon maintaining striking attitudes; their
javelins tragically crossed upon their chests. They would have looked very imposing, were it not, that in rear their
vesture was sadly disordered. Others, with swelling fronts, seemed chiefly indebted to their dinners for their dignity.
Many were nodding and napping. And, here and there, were sundry indefatigable worthies, making a great show of
imperious and indispensable business; sedulously folding banana leaves into scrolls, and recklessly placing them into
the hands of little boys, in gay turbans and trim little girdles, who thereupon fled as if with salvation for the
dying.

It was a crowded scene; the dusky chiefs, here and there, grouped together, and their fantastic tattooings showing
like the carved work on quaint old chimney-stacks, seen from afar. But one of their number overtopped all the rest. As
when, drawing nigh unto old Rome, amid the crowd of sculptured columns and gables, St. Peter’s grand dome soars far
aloft, serene in the upper air; so, showed one calm grand forehead among those of this mob of chieftains. That head was
Saturnina’s. Gall and Spurzheim! saw you ever such a brow? — poised like an avalanche, under the shadow of a forest!
woe betide the devoted valleys below! Lavatar! behold those lips — like mystic scrolls! Those eyes — like panthers’
caves at the base of Popocatepetl!

“By my right hand, Saturnina,” cried Babbalanja, “but thou wert made in the image of thy Maker! Yet, have I beheld
men, to the eye as commanding as thou; and surmounted by heads globe-like as thine, who never had thy caliber. We must
measure brains, not heads, my lord; else, the sperm whale, with his tun of an occiput, would transcend us all.”

Near by, were arched ways, leading to subterranean places, whence issued a savory steam, and an extraordinary
clattering of calabashes, and smacking of lips, as if something were being eaten down there by the fattest of fat
fellows, with the heartiest of appetites, and the most irresistible of relishes. It was a quaffing, guzzling, gobbling
noise. Peeping down, we beheld a company, breasted up against a board, groaning under numerous viands. In the middle of
all, was a mighty great gourd, yellow as gold, and jolly round like a pumpkin in October, and so big it must have grown
in the sun. Thence flowed a tide of red wine. And before it, stood plenty of paunches being filled therewith like
portly stone jars at a fountain. Melancholy to tell, before that fine flood of old wine, and among those portly old
topers, was a lean man; who occasionally ducked in his bill. He looked like an ibis standing in the Nile at flood tide,
among a tongue-lapping herd of hippopotami.

They were jolly as the jolliest; and laughed so uproariously, that their hemispheres all quivered and shook, like
vast provinces in an earthquake. Ha! ha! ha! how they laughed, and they roared. A deaf man might have heard them; and
no milk could have soured within a forty-two-pounder ball shot of that place.

Now, the smell of good things is no very bad thing in itself. It is the savor of good things beyond; proof positive
of a glorious good meal. So snuffing up those zephyrs from Araby the blest, those boisterous gales, blowing from out
the mouths of baked boars, stuffed with bread-fruit, bananas, and sage, we would fain have gone down and partaken.

But this could not be; for we were told that those worthies below, were a club in secret conclave; very busy in
settling certain weighty state affairs upon a solid basis, They were all chiefs of immense capacity:— how many gallons,
there was no finding out.

Be sure, now, a most riotous noise came up from those catacombs, which seemed full of the ghosts of fat Lamberts;
and this uproar it was, that heightened the din above-ground.

But heedless of all, in the midst of the amphitheater, stood a tall, gaunt warrior, ferociously tattooed, with a
beak like a buzzard; long dusty locks; and his hands full of headless arrows. He was laboring under violent paroxysms;
three benevolent individuals essaying to hold him. But repeatedly breaking loose, he burst anew into his delirium;
while with an absence of sympathy, distressing to behold, the rest of the assembly seemed wholly engrossed with
themselves; nor did they appear to care how soon the unfortunate lunatic might demolish himself by his frantic
proceedings.

Toward one side of the amphitheatrical space, perched high upon an elevated dais, sat a white-headed old man with a
tomahawk in his hand: earnestly engaged in overseeing the tumult; though not a word did he say. Occasionally, however,
he was regarded by those present with a mysterious sort of deference; and when they chanced to pass between him and the
crazy man, they invariably did so in a stooping position; probably to elude the atmospheric grape and cannister,
continually flying from the mouth of the lunatic.

“What mob is this?” cried Media.

“’Tis the grand council of Vivenza,” cried a bystander. “Hear ye not Alanno?” and he pointed to the lunatic.

Now coming close to Alanno, we found, that with incredible volubility, he was addressing the assembly upon some
all-absorbing subject connected with King Bello, and his presumed encroachments toward the northwest of Vivenza.

One hand smiting his hip, and the other his head, the lunatic thus proceeded; roaring like a wild beast, and beating
the air like a windmill:—

“I have said it! the thunder is flashing, the lightning is crashing! already there’s an earthquake in Dominora! Full
soon will old Bello discover that his diabolical machinations against this ineffable land must soon come to naught. Who
dare not declare, that we are not invincible? I repeat it, we are. Ha! ha! Audacious Bello must bite the dust! Hair by
hair, we will trail his gory gray beard at the end of our spears! Ha, ha! I grow hoarse; but would mine were a voice
like the wild bulls of Bullorom, that I might be heard from one end of this great and gorgeous land to its farthest
zenith; ay, to the uttermost diameter of its circumference. Awake! oh Vivenza. The signs of the times are portentous;
nay, extraordinary; I hesitate not to add, peculiar! Up! up! Let us not descend to the bathos, when we should soar to
the climax! Does not all Mardi wink and look on? Is the great sun itself a frigid spectator? Then let us double up our
mandibles to the deadly encounter. Methinks I see it now. Old Bello is crafty, and his oath is recorded to obliterate
us! Across this wide lagoon he casts his serpent eyes; whets his insatiate bill; mumbles his barbarous tusks; licks his
forked tongues; and who knows when we shall have the shark in our midst? Yet be not deceived; for though as yet, Bello
has forborn molesting us openly, his emissaries are at work; his infernal sappers, and miners, and wet-nurses, and
midwives, and grave-diggers are busy! His canoe-yards are all in commotion! In navies his forests are being launched
upon the wave; and ere long typhoons, zephyrs, white-squalls, balmy breezes, hurricanes, and besoms will be raging
round us!”

His philippic concluded, Alanno was conducted from the place; and being now quite exhausted, cold cobble-stones were
applied to his temples, and he was treated to a bath in a stream.

This chieftain, it seems, was from a distant western valley, called Hio–Hio, one of the largest and most fertile in
Vivenza, though but recently settled. Its inhabitants, and those of the vales adjoining — a right sturdy set of fellows
— were accounted the most dogmatically democratic and ultra of all the tribes in Vivenza; ever seeking to push on their
brethren to the uttermost; and especially were they bitter against Bello. But they were a fine young tribe,
nevertheless. Like strong new wine they worked violently in becoming clear. Time, perhaps, would make them all
right.

An interval of greater uproar than ever now ensued; during which, with his tomahawk, the white-headed old man
repeatedly thumped and pounded the seat where he sat, apparently to augment the din, though he looked anxious to
suppress it.

At last, tiring of his posture, he whispered in the ear of a chief, his friend; who, approaching a portly warrior
present, prevailed upon him to rise and address the assembly. And no sooner did this one do so, than the whole
convocation dispersed, as if to their yams; and with a grin, the little old man leaped from his seat, and stretched his
legs on a mat.